


Mended

by ElectraRhodes



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal - Fandom
Genre: A slice of sad, Dammit El, M/M, Post TWOTL, Really not much at all, Some things can, Some things can’t be mended, Some very limited comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 16:08:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19212889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes
Summary: A long while after they fall from the cliff they find a place to stop running. Some things just suit being broken.





	Mended

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HarkerX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarkerX/gifts), [FannibalToast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannibalToast/gifts), [LoveHonorCookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveHonorCookie/gifts), [arcadian_fae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadian_fae/gifts).



> For the crew in the woods, with much love.

Will thought, that maybe, they had chosen the house because it reminded them of that glass framed place above the Chesapeake Bay. What ever had prompted the purchase, he’d walked across the threshold, turned and looked at Hannibal, and had been relieved to see his nodded agreement.

The house was square and low, set into the surrounding landscape like it had put down roots and was determined to hang on. There were dormer windows in the attic, and a patio out back with a view of the sea. It wasn’t only the cliff that reminded them of that other place though. There was something about the way the light hit the afternoon glass of the living room. Something too in the way sound shifted round the rooms.

And the kitchen was good.

Will wondered if Hannibal could ever live somewhere where the kitchen wasn’t good. Or good enough, at least. Hannibal had seemed amused when the realtor had run through their requirements with a raised brow, with maybe an eye to the local availability of sealed granite worktops and solid wood cabinets. In the end what hadn’t been good enough they’d simply replaced.

He stood now, in the living room, next to the French windows that looked out over the patio. Hannibal puttered in the kitchen, it was a soothing susurration of fuzzed up noise, a background interruption to the quiet.

He sipped on a cup of coffee, cradled warm in his hands. There were seagulls wheeling over the cliff edge. Screeching, as they appeared and disappeared, the sound numbed by the double glazing they’d had installed. 

Their nearest neighbours were a decent walk in either direction along the public right of way that wound along the cliff path. They were almost equidistant between the two nearest towns, and they rehearsed the merits of both each time they needed some item of shopping or other. 

The neighbours south were friendly and kind but kept themselves to themselves. Wound up in each other in some kind of removed way, nice, easy. And also distant. Will could relate. The family to the north were a little hunched up about things and also a little nosey. 

Perhaps it was no surprise they went south more often than not, past the kind of neighbours you could depend on in a pinch. But neighbours who hoped the pinch wasn’t too deep or too often.

He took another mouthful of coffee. A little sweet, a little cream, with maybe the faintest hint of chicory. A taste of home.

“We need more milk? Shall I make the run later?”

He didn’t hear Hannibal’s answer. Probably they’d eat some lunch, bicker companionably about which town to go to, and end up, as usual, going south. Well, that was fine with him. He liked a little predictability to the day. Same shape. Same pace.

...............

Lunch was fish soup. There was butter in golden pools dotted on the surface, and coarse ground black pepper, studded against the bisque and yellow. It was delicious. All Hannibal’s recipes were good ones.

Will ate a second slice of nutty brown bread, unadorned. It didn’t need anything, and was perfect for sopping up the last few swipes in the bottom of his bowl. He sat back in his chair and smiled, then collected their dishes and took them out to the kitchen. His turn to wash up. It always amused him that the prep dishes, and boards, and pans, and knives, seemed to pile up whenever it was his turn. He thought Hannibal was making some kind of point, but he had yet to work out what. He didn’t mind. It was good that there was still some mystery between them. Especially the less sharply pointed kind.

Will brought the shopping back in the early evening. As he stacked vegetables in the rack he felt Hannibal’s hand on his waist. He turned willingly into the kiss, potatoes forgotten. 

Sex between them still had the capacity to astonish him. And he went gladly, abandoning the carrots and onions to their fate on the kitchen counter next to the sink. What harm could come to them anyways?

Their bedroom was up in the attic, the bed between the dormers, where it was possible to lie down, tip your head back in the slick slide of mutual pleasure, and see the stars. Some of them always the same now. Some of them always the same.

Afterwards, when he woke, the shadows had lengthened in the room, and he knew that Hannibal would be downstairs putting a late supper together. He stretched out across the bed. The pillow beside him was still dented from Hannibal’s head. He buried his face in it for a moment, and caught the faint scent of the cologne he currently favoured. The bottle was almost empty, and Will made a mental note to look for a replacement soon.

That night he yawned himself into sleep, making faint promises and agreeing to a proposed longer trip, smiling when it became clear that it was something that involved a harpsichord.

...............

Will dropped the cup when he saw the car sweep round the headland. The window in the living room gave him an excellent view. He cursed quietly, and gathered the pieces up. He shoved them into a drawer, Hannibal would want to mend it. He had an appetite for kintsugi, and there were a few pieces dotted round the house. That plate Will had thrown a month after they arrived. The vase that got knocked over during some furious exchange that had burned into passionate urgency.

He turned back to the window and saw the car draw up outside. He was shocked to see it was Alana. She still looked put together, though her hair was shot with steel now. She was ageing well he thought. Better than him.

She slammed the driver’s door shut and showed no hesitation as she approached the front of the house. Will ducked back from the window and looked round desperately, searching for anything too obvious. 

He pushed a book back onto a shelf. Hung up a scarf. Closed the sliding door of a cupboard. Looked around some more. Good enough. Probably. He just hoped Hannibal wouldn’t come back while she was still here. He hadn’t forgotten the promise he’d made her when she’d begged him to save Will. Still intended to keep it. Even after all this time.

He got the door open just after she knocked, and managed a look of surprise.

 

................

 

Will frowned as he drank his coffee. The seagulls still screamed and wheeled. And it still had the faint tang of chicory behind the cream and the sugar. 

He didn’t turn to look at Hannibal when he laid a hand on his shoulder. It’s weight a warm comfort. An echo of many touches and quiet caresses from the past, bleeding into the present.

“I guess she’ll talk to Jack. I suppose we always knew the Verger money would come good some time. You think it was the north or south people who sold us out? No. Doesn’t matter. We could think about running. Again.”

He paused then.

“I like it here. We do. I don’t want to run.”

He put his hand over Hannibal’s as he squeezed gently.

He sighed.

He shifted slightly and looked round the room; the books piled up on the bookcase he’d built by hand, to Hannibal’s careful specifications; the couch with the damask pillows that Hannibal had spent far too long debating the relative merits of, compared to what, Will couldn’t remember now; the space for the harpsichord, coming soon; and the table and chairs at the far end, tucked under the window where there was a good view of the approach road in both directions.

“I suppose we could risk it. See if she thinks it’s worth the trouble it will stir up. A promise is a promise after all. Even now.”

He watched as Hannibal picked up the book he’d been reading earlier, and settled himself into the corner of the couch, still seemingly undisturbed by the Damoclean sword.

Will finished his coffee and drifted over to the stereo and set a cd playing. He closed his eyes against the sob of the saxophone. A modern classical piece that made him think of birds. He glanced at Hannibal who had made a space beside him on the couch. Will fitted into it like a hand into a glove.

“Alright then. We’ll stay. No point panicking. Panicking just makes me look guilty. More likely to attract attention by running, than by sitting tight, right?”

He let his shoulders drop as he slumped sideways against Hannibal’s solid warmth. On the small table in front of the couch the mended teacup was drying. The gold glue in the cracks gleamed in the lamplight from the reading light angled just so. He closed his eyes and listened to Hannibal turning the pages of his book.

...............

 

Alana blinked hard at Jack Crawford, semi-retired and glad of it. He was seeing someone she’d heard. Some doctor. There was some kind of irony in that, she thought.

“Freddie was right. Will’s at that house.”

Jack shrugged.

“Sure. We’ve been keeping tabs, house near by. Just in case. I’ve made sure we’ve left well alone. Limited one on one. Nothing intrusive. Freddie though?”

Alana shook her head.

“I think I’ve got her squared away. We pointed her at a bigger story. Something with legs.”

They both paused. Perhaps both thinking of Bedelia Du Maurier.

“Anyway. I talked to him.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. 

“To Will?” 

He hesitated. All kinds of emotions running across his face. Conflicted ones in the main. 

“How’s he doing?” He asked cautiously.

Alana’s face fell.

“He was perfectly courteous. Polite. Tight. But he behaved like he was trying to be open. Up front.”

Jack nodded.

“Like he was so open there couldn’t be anything he was possibly trying to hide?”

She sighed at him.

“Just so.” She paused a moment. “Jack. There were two plates and two bowls by the sink when I got there.” 

She didn’t mention the contrasting oddness of the single cup.

He nodded again, and she waited, just to see what he’d say. He shook his head slowly then, and she reached a hand out and briefly rested it on his sleeve.

“Jack? Does Will think he’s still alive?”

Jack looked at her, and she could see the shine of sorrow in his eyes.

“He thinks they’re together for sure.”

Alana took her hand back and considered the ways in which the world had broken Will Graham, and how Hannibal Lecter had mended him.

................

 

Will raised a hand in farewell to the neighbours from the south. Not them then, which was a small relief of a kind. He watched as they walked away, the man turning at the twist in the path to wave a final goodbye. 

He went back inside the house, and closed the lid on the harpsichord. Maybe Hannibal would feel like playing a little later.

He listened for any sound of movement from the bedroom upstairs, but it was quiet, so he tidied away the cups from their unexpected visitors. Worried about some red haired woman they’d seen hanging around. Freddie Lounds. Still awfully rude. They’d have to do something about that. 

He frowned a little over the cup that was still full. Maybe the chicory hit hadn’t appealed. He emptied it down the sink and washed the cup up with the other three. They’d admired the mended cup though. Now in a box frame on the wall. Come back together. The gold of kintsugi paste a reminder that the cracks were still there, the cup reassembled. Mended. Almost.

That night he turned down the bed and pressed his face into Hannibal’s pillow. Still faintly scented with cologne. He looked at the almost empty bottle. He really must buy a new one soon. It’d be a good surprise. 

The moon shone through the windows in the roof above as he settled down, let the dark claim him, as Hannibal had. Their stars, still the same. Softly. He sighed in his sleep. Unbroken, at least, by dreams.


End file.
